Temenos
by The Readers Muse
Summary: And if a demon could fall in love with an angel at first sight on the thinnest edge of purgatory, he was wholly - doubly - damned from that moment forward.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter One**_

The Endless War had been churning on long before he crawled out of the ashy pits of charred bone and withered flesh that had birthed him. It was a war that lived up to it's namesake. One that had started with the seduction of Adam and Eve by the clever serpent and had continued ever since.

Heaven and Hell bleeding together on the same battlefield.

Slaying in their maker's name.

But for _what_ exactly, he didn't know.

Perhaps no one did.

There was no satisfactory answer.

It was a strange parody.

Hypocritical, inelegant and wasteful.

But then- he supposed he wasn't one to judge.

He'd lost that right long ago.

* * *

He'd lost count how many of the light-bringers he'd crushed under his hands and dark-pitted steel. He'd known once. Back when it had seemed important to keep track. Back when he'd relished the bright flare of light as heaven leaked from their veins. Back when he'd openly mocked their last breaths. The moment when their sweet, achingly beautiful songs faltered in mid-stride. Looking up at him with ancient surprise, rage and sometimes- sometimes even sadness. Like they could see something in him he didn't recognize. Pitying the broken little slivers that remained that marked him as one of their father's favorite children. Something that even a thousand eons in hell hadn't been able to stamp out.

That was the part that had ruined it for him.  
 _  
The part that'd made him think._

Realizing by proxy that it'd been a long time since he actually had.

Hell had a way of doing that to you.

There were times he could almost remember the soul that had created him. The man who'd originally worn this skin before they'd been twisted in the torture pits and branded with the Devil's darkness. The man hadn't been unredeemable. Not at first. But the man had been vengeful. _Angry._ The man had sinned and had fallen and hell had merely done the rest. Splintering what remained of the goodness - piece by fractured piece - until only the shadows remained. Exorcising the shell of every last inch of it's troublesome humanity so that _he_ could be born.

After all, that was the grand joke, wasn't it?

That Lucifer had been wrong as much as he had been right. Humans were not inherently evil nor inherently good. _They simply were._ No matter how flawed, it was a rare thing indeed for a soul to come to hell already made for it. To pull themselves from the pits still whole and screaming. Skin sloughing off in angry sheaths of mottled-black. Accepting the darkness with a prostrated knee and a bared throat before the flames rose around them in violent greeting. Welcoming, but still merciless.

He'd stayed away from those ones from the beginning. And for good reason. He might be a demon. He might have the same eerie-dark eyes and blistered-bronze horns sprouting from his skull, but they were not the same. He didn't know if they ever could be.

 _Perhaps he was broken.  
_  
He considered the matter privately for a good half century. Brooding long into the inky-black of his brethren's shallow, fox-hole nests. Remaining apart from their twisting flesh and pitching groans. Enjoying each other as they licked away the ochre of old blood and hissed tales of the battlefield like a lover might whisper endearments. Their victories. Their conquests. The taste of electricity and comforting warmth that flooded across their tongue when they seized the soft of the divine in their gnarled little claws and _tore_.

The idea that he might be different was not merely just hard to swallow, but also not backed by much in the way of hard evidence. He still fought. Still hated. Still blasphemed and killed. He even still enjoyed it. It was just that sometimes- only sometimes- he had to deal with the occasional heart wrenching clench in his gut. It was a sensation that struck without warning or mercy. Followed without fail by the distant sound of a familiar stranger sobbing in the echoes of a mortal man's memories.

He never asked the others if they felt it too.

He wasn't that foolish – or naïve.

And hell had taught him, amongst other things, the value of a cautious silence.

Still, he hadn't been this confused - _conflicted_ – in all his memory.

And honestly, he wasn't sure if he liked it.

While it did give him a bit of self-imagined distinction over his peers, it wasn't a complication he was supposed to covet. A demon with nasty, lingering soul-type echoes? That couldn't mean anything good, after all. Not down here. It wasn't right and it wasn't supposed to be possible. That much he knew for certain.

And yet-

It _was_ possible.

It had to be.

 _He was possible._

So, naturally, he did the only thing he could do. He threw himself back into the fight with a willingness that made the first angel he crossed paths with tremble and spill over with a fountain of bright, iron-red and fast escaping grace. Fulfilling the purpose of his existence over and over, until one day, everything changed.

* * *

He was lurking in the shadows of a darkened hollow, ready to slit the throat of a careless, red-haired Adelphi when he saw him. A tall figure fighting alone on a pinnacle of jagged volcanic rock. Filling the air with a song he'd never heard. Something righteous and beautiful, fierce but also desperately lonely.

 _Something new.  
_  
It was so magnetizing he couldn't help but call out. Like a human child craving attention, he bellowed a cacophony of wrenching syllables that caught in purgatory's foul winds and echoed. Capturing the angel's attention as his blade sliced through a trio of demons trying to tear into him from behind. Electric blue eyes snapping _down, down, down_. Somehow finding him in the darkness the same moment he sank his steel deep into the foolish Adelphi's back. Watching with distinct satisfaction as the angel's face shimmered with grief and holy rage. Wings flaring high and predatory, like the threat display of a bird of prey, as he bared his teeth clear challenge. Daring the winged idiot to test him.

The next thing he was aware of was the beat of powerful wings and the sensation of falling.

And if a demon could fall in love with an angel at first sight on the thinnest edge of purgatory, he was wholly - _doubly_ \- damned from that moment forward.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will eleven more chapters, stay tuned.

 **Reference:**

* _Temenos_ – "place dedicated to a god."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion, mild sexual content.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Two**_

It became something of a routine after that.

Something to look forward too.

Something that fulfilled him more than the act of killing itself.

Something more.

 _Something powerful._

* * *

In truth, the next time the angel found _him_.

And just like before, all the warning he had was the sound of wings slicing through dead air. Jolting himself awake just in time to watch the Adelphi land in the middle of the nest he'd chosen for the night. Fist to the dirt in the churned up muck before he rose to his feet - avenging and powerful. Eyes finding his through the gloom like it was more than just chance. Looking distinctly unmoved by the screams as he raised his hand and scorched the imps around him until even the ashy flakes that marked where they'd stood were reduced to a fine power.

He just raised a brow, not even bothering to pick up his blade as the angel advanced in him. Porcelain-divine and _oh so_ achingly pure. Clearly waiting for him to attack as the fingers of his palm spread like a threat. The glow from his halo highlighting the blood spatter dappled across the creamy-white fabric around his waist. The same cloth every angel wore in uniform.

"Wake up on the wrong side of the altar this morning, did you darling?"

The angel blinked. Then cocked his head. Looking at him, perhaps for the first time as something in his rotting chest tightened. Swelling up his throat like a fractured hiccup. Like his insides were on a mission to kill him in reverse. Trading the moment between the two of them for a hundred fractured beats before suspicion and a tired sort of apathy rippled across the angel's face. Settling them firmly back into familiar waters.

It didn't occur to him until later - long after the blast of holy fire sent him careening back down to hell - that perhaps the fact that he hadn't been immediately eviscerated along with the others might have been an important point for consideration.

* * *

The third time he caught the Adelphi in the back with an ax. Enjoying the desecration that followed as the angel's spine split at the seam. Folding - without grace - amongst the broken, limestone columns that marked the ruined temples of lesser gods. The ones humanity had worshiped in the muddled dark before the great enlightenment. The ones that had fought for their bit of earth as God laughed. Quaking the very ground beneath their feet before the universe yawned and swallowed them whole.

He stayed long enough for the Adelphi to know it was him. Coming around to his side as the angel's lashes fluttered. Struggling through his death throes but somehow still managing to focus when he crouched down beside him. Staring up at him like his very gaze could burn him from the inside out. Almost downplaying the wide-palmed hand that was searching across the porous rock, wanting so very desperately to find his blade and plunge it deep into his heart.

But for all the impendence he saw in the angel's face, he only laughed. Chortling deep in his throat as those striking sapphire eyes dimmed. Forcing the angel's head up with the point of his dagger as he cut a cruel line through the ivory pale of his throat.

"You have to admit, it _was_ my turn, dear."

For a demon, the words were almost gentle.

* * *

The fourth time he fought off an entire host of others - even his own kind - for the privilege of killing the creature himself. Burning with possession and a traitorous tangle of far lighter emotions as he hacked his way through the wall of flesh that separated them. Telling himself over and over - as he ran the Adelphi through with his blade, coaxing out the final strains of that queer little song of his - that it was all equal in the end. That no matter what was edging in from the sidelines, killing an angel had to be just about the worst sin of them all.

 _Right?_

* * *

Things went on like that for a handful of centuries.

But strangely enough, he never got bored.

In fact, sometimes he just watched.

 _He was a beautiful thing after all.  
_  
The Adelphi was fierce and bright. Taller than most, but not enough to stand out when surrounded by the vast flanking lines of the Holy Host. Every so often he would find himself a nice private hollow to simply watch him from. Following the path he wrecked through the ranks of his dark brothers and sisters. Twinned blades flashing, cleaving, _dripping_. Studying him without distraction as the being used his wings to soar high and plunge down again. Crushing a gaggle of demons under powerful legs before jumping off the side of a cliff and darting down to the valley rock below.

The Adelphi put an entirely new meaning to the word ruin and yet- for all he was old – ancient, even - the angel was ageless. _Beyond time._ A rule of law onto itself. Younger than God, but not much else. And yet, somehow, this one was still so young. Innocent to be sure, but in a far purer way then he knew angels to be.

He wasn't host to that same hatred and disconnect as his fellows. Like him he'd grown weary. Seeing no need to record the deaths he'd long lost count of. The ones he'd etched once into the scorched-blunt of his blade. Trappings akin to the medals humans wore on their chest to signify their status and rank. This angel wasn't like the others. Not yet at least. He didn't know how it was possible, but it was.

Distantly he knew that he wasn't supposed to see the difference.

 _That there wasn't one._

But apparently he was past being able not to make it personal.

* * *

Naturally, it was all the angel's fault.

He'd decided that long ago.

Now he merely had to punish him for it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – Stay tuned, there is more to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Three**_

An indeterminable time - perhaps a thousand years, maybe less - found them tearing into each other in the center of a vast, natural crater. Fighting. Whirling. Striking. Parrying. _Thrusting._ He didn't have wings, but somehow he was soaring just as high. A silent song of his own pounding in his breast as they glided together, moving seamlessly. So evenly matched neither of them could gain a fair foothold against the other. And so in sync he wished he had an observer's eyes so he could watch from a distant perspective.

Because there were watchers.

 _Oh yes._

For the first time in memory. Angel and demon paused in mid-skirmish. Lowering their arms so they might watch together along the rim of the great crater. Whispering their names from Heights Rock to the Seventh circle of hell. Speaking with pride and revulsion - depending whose side you were on - about the two fighters that refused to give ground.

Behind him a legion of demons hissed and stomped. Shaking the ground with their might and chanting his name in hell-speak. Sounding out in a clash of metallic syllables and unforgiving harshness he no longer felt equal to. Perhaps he never had.

While on the Adelphi's side, a heavenly host sang on high. Thumping their hilts against their shields like a singular heartbeat. Holy consensus in the form of a hundred thousand ancient voices. Warriors of old who'd seen every battle play out - in Heaven, Earth and in Hell since time began, all turned their heads to watch.

Hours passed into days and still they didn't stop. Not until they were panting and flagging. Grappling like they could tear each other apart with their bare hands. Crawling through the muck and withered trees, weapons long forgotten in favor of brute strength and bare fists. So thickly smeared with filth and each other's red that no one could rightly tell where angel ended and demon began.

"Why don't you just die, demon?" the angel hissed. Teeth bared like they were a mirror images of each other - nude and mud-smeared. Host to the same, painfully conscious ferocity as the Adelphi's fingers wrapped around his throat the same moment he returned the favor. Throttling each other until the stars burned out and the relief of nothingness ended the fight on their behalf.

It was a fair question.

* * *

That was the first time they danced together.

* * *

"This never stops, you know?" he said to him the next time they met on the battlefield. Enjoying the way he could still startle him, even if it was only with words. Flicking unconcernedly at the blade that'd split him in half from shoulder to navel. Quietly bleeding out into the bone dry grass.

"This is the way things are," the angel replied grudgingly, lingering over the syllables like the act itself was unfamiliar. Looming over him as he sheathed his blades in the holster nestled in the small of his back before pulling out a jeweled dagger. Perhaps a gift from his superiors. His keen nose twitched he scented its freshness from the Holy forges. It was unbloodied. _Clean_. "The way they've always been and the way they'll always be."

"Is it? Does it?" he questioned angrily, uncertain where the thoughts were coming from and why but refusing to back down all the same. Tasting the complications that were building between them like insects spilling from their nests. Threatening to spread like the worst type of infestation.

"You're here. I'm here, yet I'm _still_ here- why haven't you just ended it? Like you wanted to in the crater? Why are you even listening? Why-"

The angel decapitated him before he could finish. But not before a completely different type of expression spread across the Adelph's features. Emotions felt perhaps even for the first time.

Uncertainty.

Confusion.

 _Fear._

The last thing he remembered before Hell open underneath him, was fielding the desire to arc up and trace it with his tongue. To remember it's taste and the deepness of those new furrows, if only for a moment.

* * *

The rest happened quickly.

At least as far as anything concerning immortal beings ever moved quickly.

* * *

He changed tactics after that.

He spent the next few battles well away from him. Deliberately losing himself in the twisting crowd every time the angel spotted him and made a move to confront him. Much like the game human children played with relish, he hid while the angel - _his angel_ \- did the seeking. It was fascinating to witness because soon enough, frustration and rancor took over the being's usual serenity. Even the grim expression of battle he so often wore was divided by a frown as he hacked through the demons within reach - searching for him.

He chuckled into his palm as he darted close, letting their flesh almost brush. Sending ripples through the Adelphi's uniform as he darted into a hollowed cave directly behind the being and froze.

The angel's face was _thunderous_.

He knew he was being played with.

"You cannot hide forever," the angel rasped, turning slowly on his heel. Bare feet deceptively delicate for a being he'd once seen crush the skull of a fallen demon under his heel with barely any effort.

But still, he said nothing. Straining with the excitement of it all until a squadron of Seraphs soared high above. Calling out orders for a new charge. Aiming to take advantage of a weak spot in his brethren's ranks. Perhaps hoping to gain new ground while they still could.

He did not know.

He rarely paid attention to such things.

Instead he timed it perfectly. Waiting for just the right moment when the angel divided his attention and started to turn, before rippling from his hide-out like a river-water over familiar rocks. Beating the words before they reached their target as he ghosted past the angel's other side and safely into the crush of battle. Too fast to be caught but riding the ghost of the echoes so closely it must have seemed as though he'd whispered them directly in the angel's ear. As close as a lover and as dangerous as an-

"No," he agreed, voice scratchy with unused gentleness and honest mirth as the angel whirled. One large hand flaring outwards, surprisingly empty of the weapon he could have sworn the being had been clutching only seconds before. Fingers spread - raking through the air where he'd been only half a breath previously. "Where's the fun in that?"

He felt more like his old self than he had in centuries.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion, mild sexual content.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Four**_

They killed each other about a half dozen times before he started to get bored again.

Not bored of him.

 _No._

Just bored.

He was trying to understand why. Feeling a whole lot like there was a question - half formed and precious - on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask. Only the angel never quite gave him the chance to spit it out before they had to deal with each other's steel.

It got to the point where _something_ had to give.

A bored demon was a dangerous demon, if you were asking him.

Which no one was.

Which was probably half of the problem right there.

* * *

There was an itch under his skin now. Enough that a handful of weeks later, when his legion's shift was over and night fell, instead of returning to the nest he followed the light. He chased them from the ground - lunging over the soaring cliffs and vast crevasses - as the angels flew back to their garrison for the night's rest.

He made a pact with the shadows to keep him as he watched the last of the garrison march through the golden gates and close them soundly. The last inside ensuring they were locked and secure before taking flight to join the rest of the squadron.

There were no guards standing watch.

There was no need for them.

And every demon knew why.

He waited until he was sure he was alone before advancing the rest of the way. Sheathing his steel with an impatient flick as he turned his attention on the gate itself. He inspected the golden rods carefully, well aware of their power. Marveling privately at the intricacies in the smithing. At the way that despite having watched the gate open and close he couldn't locate the lock or any sort of mechanism to open it.

He hissed in frustration. Glancing up at the mighty sandstone towers and pillaring clouds that wreathed them like the angel - _his angel_ \- was personally to blame.

No demon had ever successfully scaled the gates and gained entry into the angel's stronghold. Heaven's grace ran strongly through the bars like individual lightening bolts. Ready and waiting to cast down the impure. He'd seen it happen before. Having watched a handful of his more curious brothers and sisters try to grasp a handhold on the unforgiving metal only to be _scorched_. Reduced to a fine, powdering-mist the moment their skin came into contact with it.

Only, that wasn't what happened now.

Because, _of course_ , for reasons beyond him, he'd gone and done it anyway.

Realizing with sudden clarity that though he could smell the sickening tart of burning flesh from where his hands were grasping the bars, he was somehow still whole. Still here. Still, _well,_ for lack of a better term- _alive_. He cracked a lid, admittedly curious. He'd expected to be plunged back into Hell's healing pits the moment he'd touched the bars, just like the others. Baptized by the agonizing sear of his molecules wrenching themselves back together. Hearing the mocking laughter of the overseers as they cracked their cruel, iron-barbed whips asked - not without ironic amusement - if he had a death wish.

He hadn't expected this.

Whatever _this_ was.

But he certainly wasn't going to waste it.

He scaled the soaring gild-work with difficulty. Finally falling over the opposite side with a tortured groan, breathing hard. Watching the smoke issue from the burning sores now weeping dark black pitch in the place of blood across half his body. Cursing God, the angel, the earthy-soft of the soil and anything else he could readily think of as he looked up at the towering gate with healthy distaste.

For creatures of the eternal light, angels could certainly be exacting in their cruelty.

Even if it was second-hand.

When he regained enough strength to move, he crawled into the shade of a grassy thicket. Digging his claws deep, past the fragrant fronds of ever-blooming palms until he found himself in the center crown of a grouping of fat flower-bulbs with deep wells of sweet honey. Each and every one flowed thick - like oil - over his fingers when he broke them open at the stem and drank greedily.

Something unfamiliar flashed in his mind's eye. Too thin to be a memory. But enough that it rose up like an imprint. An impression of something that had come before. Something this body had experienced. Maybe even enjoyed, perhaps. Either way he allowed the complexity and discomfort it brought to chase him into motion.

The night was well into it's own by the time he'd pulled himself up to one of the fortresses great windows. Looking down into a great hall where the angels were comfortably seated. Clothed in fresh white and singing together in a victorious chorus as pearl-like orbs lit up the room in a pleasant glow.

It was...well- remarkably spartan for one. Most demons believed that the angels lived in splendor while they sheltered in their little earthy hollows. Surrounded with riches and jewels and the beauty of ancient things. But apparently that wasn't the case, at least not here. There was no food or drink, but then again, he didn't expect there to be. Angels didn't need either. What sustained them was the power of heaven's grace. Like mana to the soul, that was what filled them. Did the job better then bread and wine, he figured. From what he could see the vast cathedral was nothing more than smooth lines, spartan stone benches and an achingly pristine sort of cleanliness that almost hurt to look at.

It was comfortable, that much was clear and the angels looked-

His eyes narrowed, nesting an anger in his throat he didn't quite understand.

They looked different from how they were on the battlefield. Complacent? Contented? Peaceful? Like being in this place was akin to the touch of their creator's hand. It reminded him of the stark difference between them. A reality that was easy to forget when the angels were so damned efficient at killing. Demons had been made for this, for battle, war and darker things. Angels, however, had not. Avenging they might be, they were humanities shepherds first.

After what felt like hours of looking - not realizing until that moment he actually _was_ \- he found him. _His angel._ His claws sunk into the sandstone with a gritty scritch. His interest embarrassingly obvious and violently eager. The angel was sitting in a quiet corner on a stone bench hewn out of rock in the form of a pew. Wings relaxed around him in a sheath of softness as he read from a brittle, yellowed tome. Long fingers curled around it's pages with delicate care. Head bowed. Distracted.

He craned his next to see the title. Wondering what it was that'd ensnared the angel's attention so thoroughly. But the language was unfamiliar. He wrinkled his nose. Disliking the idea that anything the angel did was inaccessible to him. Even if it was this little thing.

He was still simmering in the emotion when another angel approached. It was a female, her long brown hair damp and recently freed from its fighting braids. So long that it trailed on the ground behind her in rich chestnut waves. Clearly seeking the angel's attention for herself as her wings shifted – puffing and ruffling like a quiet tell.

For a long moment, the angel didn't seem to notice. Looking up only belatedly when her shadow blocked the light. He watched, fascinated, as the angel blinked apologetically. Sending her an easy smile - the first he'd ever witnessed on the being - as the female settled down beside him. Mouth moving with conversation he couldn't hear as she took the book from his hands and set it boldly aside.

They knew each other.

That much was clear.

But what made it worse was when she turned her back and allowed her wings - ebony with white speckles - to stretch. Inviting his attention as he inclined his head receptively. Reaching up to straighten her primary feathers as she settled into the crook of his chest with clear satisfaction and claim. Accepting his gesture in turn when his wings flared high - a piebald mess of white and brown – before settling them around her to preen. Watching first hand as the angel's expression softened the longer her fingers raked through the soft down of his secondary feathers. Laxing into something that dipped heat down to his belly as the shared pleasure of the act only grew more and more obvious.

It lit something to char inside of him.

Something that reeked of ill-placed jealousy.

Something that made it easy for him to hate her even though he didn't understand why.

* * *

He set their golden fortress on fire and watched as a hundred thousand angels wailed and screamed. Their proud feathers withering down to the jarring ivory of naked bone. Unearthing a nervous system humming with the chords of God's love. Burning hotter and hotter, like the souls their father allowed to suffer in the hell pits below, until blinding light started leaking from their eyes and mouths and-

He realized that somewhere along the line he must have closed his eyes. Feeling the heat against his skin - basking in it. Yet, despite his triumph, his dark eyes refused to watch any longer.

He was... _conflicted_.

Part of him was still raging.

Unsatisfied with the fact that he hadn't seen the angel burn.

Meanwhile, the other part – quiet, but oh so equally damning - was relieved.

It was the beginning of his end as far as hindsight was concerned.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Five**_

 _"How did you gain entry to our fortress? What foul deeds did you commit on holy soil? Our concentrated ground has been sullied by your presence. The echoes permeate - they will linger for centuries. This fortress has stood since the beginning; it has never been taken. Do you understand? Who are you to sully it? How did you make it past the western gates? Speak, demon! I will have your words if I have to rip them from your throat myself."_

He supposed it was only fair that the angels would get even. But honestly he was surprised at the level of retaliation. Despite being the only demon to have successfully scaled the great gates – a reality he was avoiding if he was being completely honest, becoming intimate with the sinking feeling in his gut - he still hadn't quite expected it when a high-ranking Seraphim snatched him in mid-battle the following day. Snaring him by the ankles as they flew up and up and up - further than he'd been. Further than any demon quite likely. Taking him all the way up to Heights Rock. So high he could almost feel the warmth of the human's sun before realization ushered in.

It peeled past the dulling layers of apathy and struck at the rotten heart of him.

The fall back down to hell from this height would take _decades_.

Years of nothing but the howl of the wind and the chill of fracturing air.

And it... it _frightened_ him.

This was retribution.

A warning to all others that might attempt the same.

Even though - somehow - he knew none of them could.

 _Just him._

Only him.

The Seraphim held him there, suspended above the crux between worlds, for an ageless moment. Waiting for what, he didn't know. He didn't have the answers. Not to these questions. Not even to the ones he should have. Everything was muddled and yawning. Just like the empty nothingness reaching up from the darkness below, eager to swallow him whole. He was-

He fell.

And fell.

And fell.

And-

He felt something in him give way. Splintering when a flurry of ivory and brown-speckled wings grazed down his sides like a lover's touch. Holding him in strong arms for a brief time - somehow managing to be both wholesome and disturbing - before flinging him away again with enough force that when he slammed into the side of the great mountain, the impact killed him instantly.

It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

* * *

"Why did you do it?" he asked conversationally, after he'd disemboweled the angel with one backwards stroke. Cleaning his steel against the stark white of the angel's uniform. Trying not to let on that he'd waited _days_ to ask him exactly that. Hunching his shoulders as the phantom itch of the angel's hands on his hide refused to fade. Watching with interest as the angel's eyes never left his face. Looking at him like he was searching for something, just like him. Something that would make everything that'd happened to this point make sense, only it was alluding him as well.

He was pretty sure the angel died just to avoid answering the question.

* * *

"You've done something to me," he accused the next time. Forcing it out as he was run though cleanly - _fairly_ \- with the angel's broadsword. Because he had. There was no other explanation. It hadn't been like this before. It hadn't felt like this. _Never like this._ Something had changed since the first time he'd seen the angel fighting all those centuries ago.

 _The angel had done something._

 _Done something to him!_

His head lulled, weak, enjoying the edging nothingness that never lasted as long as he wanted it to. A suspicious trickle of moisture - not blood but not quite tears either - trickling down his chin to patter-pat across his bare chest. Marring the hilt of the angel's blade that bloomed like an unfinished work of art between his ribs.

"There's a spark," he hissed, desperate. Reaching out for reasons he didn't understand as the angel's wings arched high. Shying away from the wicked sharp of his nails like he could have touched him somehow. Throat bobbing once, then twice as the creature opened his mouth, wordless, before closing it again.

"I don't want it. Take it back. Take it-"

His breathing hitched, interrupted. Feeling nothing but mild surprise when he realized a second blade had joined the first.

He looked up, watching the other until his eyes went dark.

Unsure what to do with the expression he found there.

Because the angel looked more like he'd run him through instead.

Like he regretted it and nothing in his long, ageless life had ever prepared him for it.

 _He looked stricken._

* * *

"You know, we should probably talk about this at some point," he remarked pleasantly, half a year later as they grappled with each other. Fighting on a jutted outcropping at the base of a billowing volcano. Filling the air with the acidic poison of new land about to form. Of birth and death and everything in between as the ground rumbled and belched beneath their feet.

"Why?" the angel gritted. Delighting him with the first answer since the fight in crater pit that had catapulted them both into legend and song.

"Seems like the right thing to do," he answered, ducking the whistling swipe of one the angel's swords before parrying the other above his head before it could fall. Kicking out with one leg when the angel tried to mess with his balance. Both of them straining to gain the upper hand as the under-earth gravity held them there.

He enjoyed the closeness before the moment broke and found them whirling away from each other again. His steel missing the angel's right arm by a millimeter – maybe less – when he danced up the south ridge and dropped down on the angel from above.

"You are a demon. What do you know of right?" the angel snarled, winding him with the flat of his sword, catching him with the blunt edge. Sounding surprising angry about it, like he'd offended him somehow.

If he'd had the breath to spare he would have laughed at that. Because in the end, all it did was prickle his hackles and make him that much more determined to get his way.

"And you're an angel and know nothing of wrong. Even though it is said you must know one to truly know the other," he pointed out. Rolling out of range before scuttling to his feet, horns aching from the impact.

The angel's wings puffed in affront. Deliciously indignant in a way that made him laugh aloud this time. Raw and baser but notably without cruelty as the angel whirled on him. Wings stretching to their full, impressive width. Blocking out the weak flares of distant eruptions and spreading hellfire.

"I also know that this isn't going away," he added after a moment, softer this time. Like he was just as lost in all this. Viciously ignoring the low stirring in his gut that told him that once – ever so long ago – this body remembered feeling like this before.

The silence that followed seemed like an answer in of itself.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – More to come, stay tuned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Six**_

The next time they met on the battlefield he did something he hadn't done in all his memory.

He hesitated.

The angel just clean missed.

 _On purpose.  
_  
It was all terribly awkward.

Worse, they stared at each other like they both knew it too.

Wide eyed and absolutely lost.

Eventually he stepped forward. Just to see what would happen. Taking a second step, then a third when the angel merely stared back at him, holding his ground. Suspicious, but similarly curious, similarly needy and-

They were close enough that he could have extended his hand and practically touched him. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering he was the one who'd done the heavy lifting so far, but somehow he still was. Baffled that the angel had allowed – was _still_ allowing it - as a thousand words died on the tip of his tongue.

They both jerked when a squadron of Seraphim flew overhead. Looming huge shadows over the battlefield, a chilling reminder of where they were and who could be watching. _They couldn't know. They couldn't! If they did they'd both be-_

He reached down - as close to a fumble has he'd gotten since he'd been newly made - searching for his hell-steel before-

The sword slash, when it came, was more like a jab of muscle memory than anything else. Like something the angel felt he _had_ to do rather than wanted to. He could tell the angel's heart - if he had one – hadn't been in it. If it had he would have been dead already.

He sucked in a wrench of air, the same air that was ruffling the angel's feathers. Flaring them out like a hundred gauzy banners as the battle raged around them. Watching the squadron's progress far above them as they continued on course. Surveying the battlefield as the danger that'd been driving them dropped into obscurity.

"I'm sorry," the angel stuttered. Taking shape above him as his halo flickered - it's usual golden light hazing in and out. Displaying a flaring, almost ethereal sort of blue he'd never seen before.

"Why?" he croaked, tasting the bitter foul of his own red creeping up his throat.

It wouldn't be long now.

But something made him hold on.

Sinking his claws deep into the dead soil like a handhold.

Like by sheer force of will he could stay just a little longer.

"I don't know," the angel whispered. So caught up in it that he didn't notice the demon creeping up behind him. He watched it happen with helpless fascination. The warning cry building in his throat was far too late. Getting stuck before it could leave his lips as he watched the demon blade erupt through the angel's chest from behind. Making him arc, dropping his blade and falling to his knees and his hands came up like the mockery of a prayer. Slumping into the dirt close beside him when the demon wrenched the blade free and turned away, deed done.

"I'm sorry too," he mouthed, words so soft they were softer than a whisper. Eyes fixed on the smudge of filth that coated the angel's cheek when he turned his head towards him.

"Why?" the angel echoed, not so much a question as it was a broken exhale. Match his furrowed brow and the tortured lines that'd taken up residence around his mouth when he hadn't been looking.

"I don't know either," he answered, so brutally honest that the angel closed his eyes and shuddered.

They died there together.

Side by side and quiet.

If he'd extended his fingers they could have brushed.

But he didn't.

He regretted it for over a decade.

* * *

It took him about five years or so to realize that the angel was avoiding him.

Ducking deeper into the battle whenever they caught sight of each other.

Or just not there, period.

Either way, he didn't like it.

Obviously, this would not do at all.

* * *

It took _another_ five years to successfully get the angel alone again. But when he did, backing him slowly into an obscure little crevice cave he'd discovered centuries ago - deep in the hard volcanic pumice - snickering a bit as the angel had to fold himself in half just to keep him at a safe distance, he realized he hadn't thought far enough ahead as to what he was going to do with him now that he finally had him.

They stared at each other for what felt like an age before he took a deep breath and shrugged. Throwing caution to the wind the same time as he allowed his sword to slip through his fingers. Clanging horribly against the rock like a final statement. Listening to the echoes spread and weave as the angel's eyes widened. Looking from him to his abandoned sword like he couldn't quite believe it.

"What are you doing?" the angel demanded, white uniform freckled with a fine mist of red but no visible smears. Like he hadn't had a chance to do much fighting before he found him.

"Nothing," he answered honestly. Leaning backwards until he was flush against the wall before lowering himself to the floor of the cave with a grunt. "Absolutely nothing."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he returned, twisting it back on him with natural flare. Finding it all too easy to get under the angel's skin. "What are _you_ doing?

"Asking you what _you_ are doing," The angel said bluntly, without even a hint of sarcasm.

"Not fighting?" he said innocently, knowing he had him cornered when the angel's lips pursed.

He let that part of their reality sink in for a time. The part where he hadn't made a move to pick up his steel. And despite opinions to the contrary, the angel had made no move to raise his either.

It seemed like they were at something of a stalemate.

He considered the situation at length. Pleased that the sounds of battle seemed to have moved off for the time being. The angel, however, never took his eyes off him. Seemingly resigned for the moment he proved this to be some elaborate trap or a joke at the expense of his pride.

 _But he was still here, wasn't he?_

That had to mean something.

He wasn't comfortable asking himself why yet. Why he'd sought him out. Why he'd dropped his weapons. Why he needed this. No, why _they_ needed this. He had a feeling that once he did he'd fall into an abyss that had no ending. So here he was, stalled at the edge. _Circling._ Trying to get the answers he wanted without taking the ultimate risk.

He sighed, eyes flicking up to meet the angel's as they shared a guarded look. Patting the ground beside him in open invitation. Finding something thrilling and heartbreaking in it. In what it meant. In what he was giving away. In what they might be working towards or-

The angel looked down at him with clear disdain. But it was an expression that softened almost the second it appeared. Winding back down into confusion and uncertainty as he jerked his head and settled next to a flat stone on the other side of the cave. Sinking down on his haunches with a careful motion, something that highlighted miles of pale skin and strong thighs. He watched, fascinated, as the angel slowly placed his blades to the side, leaning them up against the flatness of the rock. Close enough to grab but settled far enough away that it mirrored the placement of his own steel.

It seemed like as good a start as any.

* * *

"What do they call you?" he asked after a while. Not wanting to push his luck, but not wanting the opportunity to pass by either. Cognizant that whatever time they had was limited. _Precious._

"Why?" the angel asked bluntly, long legs slowly stretching out of his crouch. Thin leather sandals rasping across the rocky ground as the leather criss-crossed up his calves caught roughly against the gravel.

"It's just a question."

"No it isn't. It's an opening," the angel pointed out firmly. Apparently determined to catch him in anything even remotely approximating subterfuge. Making it impossible not to send him a sharp toothed smile as the angel reared. Wings puffing up like he'd threatened him.

The entire thing gave him an undeniable thrill.

He hadn't had a decent sparring partner, verbal or otherwise, in ages.

"And if it is?" he returned easily. Fully prepared to settle in for a long debate as a muscle in his thigh threatened to fidget in excitement.

"Fiore." the angel answered curtly. Lisping pleasantly through the familiar syllables as the change of direction caught him off guard.

He blinked. Uncertain of what to make of it until the angel sighed - dangerously close to long suffering.

"They call me Fiore."

He drew it in slowly.

Like it was a precious gift he barely trusted himself to handle.

"And you?"

It was on the tip of his tongue before he called it back; his runes in hell speak. Stopping himself before he let the rest of the foul syllables fly. Instead, he replaced it with the only other name he knew. The one that'd been branded into the skin of the soul who had worn this flesh before him. The flawed man with the restless memories.

"Deblanc."

* * *

The light from outside had barely changed, but somehow he could tell.

Night was falling.

"You will be missed?"

He posed it as a question and a statement all at once. Just another jarring reminder that there was nothing keeping the angel here save himself. He wasn't forcing him to stay, despite wanting to. Not wanting to risk the moment where the spell would break and send them back to their accustomed places. Still, it seemed important say it out loud. Free will and all that. And honestly, he wasn't sure who he was reminding. The angel or himself.

But instead of making to leave, Fiore merely nodded. Wings fluttering through a shallow stretch behind him as he leaned his long frame against the rocky interior.

"Yes. But I will tell them I saw suspicious activity. I'm sure they would be interested to learn that the demon who was responsible for burning the garrison was discovered in the middle of the battlefield. I merely followed to ensure I wasn't mistaken. They will believe it."

His lip tugged up. Privately impressed. He had no doubt they would. No one would ever suspect such a sweet one. A creature host to so little guile or with any real passion for holy deceit and hatred. It set him apart from the others. It made him different. Unique. _Better._

"Careful, now," he teased. "You'll give a demon the wrong idea. I might start thinking you like me."

Somewhere outside a victorious burst of angel song piped triumphantly through the dark. Contrasting the with lighter notes as the angel positively glowed at him across the cave.

"There's nothing about you to like," the angel called Fiore told him blandly. But not bland as it could have been, which made it easy for him to slap it right back. Grinning widely as discomfort spread across the angel's features.

"I thought your lot taught that lying was a sin, hmm?" he needled. Holding on to a raucous chuckle by the sharp of his teeth as wholesome amusement spread like something pleasant deep in his gut.

The face the angel made in response was beyond priceless.

* * *

The night stretched on, finding something worth savoring in it - even in the quiet - as he watched the angel watch him. Finding they almost didn't need words to fill it as the realization of what they were caught up in spread like ripples on an inlet pond.

"The tome you were reading that night in the garrison, what was it about?" he asked suddenly, breaking the long silence as the angel cocked his head.

"Architecture," Fiore answered, before pausing like he might need clarification. "Construction."

"Why?"

"I wish to create, not destroy," Fiore replied simply, honestly. Giving him the impression this was the first time he'd ever said as much out loud. "I wish to restore the heavenly kingdom to its former glory. To erase the stains of this war."

It was incredibly naive, but he couldn't help but try and picture it all the same.

He'd never stopped to consider that the endless war would ever actually end.

But this angel had.

In fact, he longed for it.

The difference in perspective was startling.

"And you?" the angel asked, surprising him with the question. "What do you wish?

He thought about answering with a jibe. To tease him with a laugh or a clever twist of words. To remind him of what he was. To look him in the eyes before his blade sank home, proving the angel right. Showing him exactly what he was. Just another a demon. Not more worth his attention than the war-filth that coated his skin after a day on the battlefield. A foul creature that wished only for more. More pain. More suffering. More death. More corruption. _More. More. More._

Only he didn't.

He couldn't.

Still, his answer managed to surprise him.

"To rest," he croaked. Meaning it in every way one could possible mean those two restless little words. Feeling the weight of it - of everything - in a way he never had before as the angel merely nodded. Blue eyes shining bright with the power of his grace. Making to speak like he hadn't just said something impossible.

"I'll keep watch," the angel told him, somehow managing to sit up straighter against the jagged rock. On guard and watchful. "If anyone approaches, I'll wake you."

He didn't have it in him to tell him he'd misunderstood.

Instead, he just closed his eyes.

And oddly enough, for the first time in perhaps ever, he slept.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

Things continued like that for a good half century. They slowly started avoiding each other on the battlefield and instead met in the cave whenever it was safe. Whenever they could get away without arousing suspicion. It became a habit, but soon surpassed even that. It wasn't long before it became a _need._

The strangest thing was when they did have time to duck into the cave and breathe together it was more a sharing of space than anything else. Finding it a mystery why that span of hours every once and awhile could be so precious considering all they really did was speak quietly. And sometimes not even that, sharing the silence like a familiar piece of comfortably worn clothing. Soft and malleable.

Either way, Fiore seemed to enjoy it.

If that was the right word.

He was still coming to terms with what tried to nudge through whenever he saw Fiore ducking down the narrow passage towards him. Something that spread through him like liquid warmth, permeating the hard brittle of his bones until he felt almost-

He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was a dangerous little spark that could just as easily light him on fire than anything else and he knew it.

But the one thing he couldn't shake, the one thing that refused to be buried, was the feeling that somehow they were starting over. Like they'd turned to a fresh page at the exact same time and now were trying to find ways to fill it together.

Because that was the thing, wasn't it?

It was together, or nothing.

They didn't talk about it.

But that's what it felt like.

 _That's what it was._

* * *

"What is hell like?" Fiore asked one day. Catching him soundly off guard after three hours of silence. Plucking with flat distaste at his customary white cloth. An emotion that only showed in the double-jointed flare of his thumbs and not his face as they moved over the soiled material.

Somewhere outside, an angel's song cut off in mid-swell. Filling the air with the coarse flutter of desperate wings and the sound of dark, cackling laughter.

He thought about his answer for a long time. Wondering how he could describe what it felt like to be branded into flayed skin. Weeping red and tasting the salt crusts of old tears when you couldn't remember anything that had come before. Knowing that you were the darkness that'd been scooped out, then stuffed back into the same skin?

 _How did you put it into words?_

 _You couldn't.  
_  
How did you describe the sound of the damned wailing from the burning cliffs. A growing chorus that seemed to carry, no matter where you were. How the scent of sulphur and human waste got caught in your sinuses, coating down your throat until you wanted to peel off your own skin and take steel wool to the insides. How-

He shuddered involuntarily as the echo of the soul that'd existed before hissed white noise and static through his head. Fighting to be heard through faulty dials and bad reception before he shoved it back again. Biting down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of his own blood was a comfort.

He caught Fiore staring the next time he looked up. Looking at him with an expression that threatened to get lost amidst the too sharp jut of his chin and the tapered nub of his nose.

And he just looked right back at him, knowingly. The shadow of his horns looming high and wide across the wall of the cave as the light from the angel's halo provided the contrast.

"You think demons like hell?" he returned, tone gently biting. Building off the nativity that was always so present as the angel's expression scrunched into uncertainty. Like his instinctive reaction was to worry he'd said something wrong. "Why do you think we're always in a hurry to get up here? Hell is still hell, even for demons."

It still hurt.

Still scarred.

Still-

"You didn't have to-" Fiore pointed out, rushed but uniform. Like the idea had been pounded into him like a mantra. Reminding him of that one thing every person who passed through the Gates of Judgement knew before St. Peter's mallet fell. That you _deserved_ to be there. "You had a choice. You all did. You could have- but you chose a different path."

"No," he grated, spitting it out angry-firm. Already closing himself off as the death cry of a demon carried through the stagnant wind. "Not me."

"No," Fiore agreed, softer this time and far more careful. Blue eyes surprisingly human before his lashes fluttered as his eyes shone bright with holy fire. Looking at him truly, perhaps for the first time, as the rest came out like a command - intoned and righteous. "The one that came before."

His tongue caught across the sharp of his teeth. Hesitating just a second too long before the moment drowned itself in self-made embarrassment. Realizing that in spite of himself, he wanted to ask the angel if he could see it. The after image of the soul that had existed before hell had carved it out.

 _The jaded one._

 _The self-ruined man._

But the words never left his lips.

He had a feeling that either way he wouldn't know what to do with the answer.

* * *

"What's heaven like?" he asked the next time they shared space. Feeling like it was only fair in the scheme of things. Trying not to look too interested despite part of him having always wondered.

He'd always wanted what he couldn't have. That realization wasn't new to him. But _hell_ if it didn't get that much stronger when Fiore's expression softened. The corners of his mouth lifting. Eyes distant and bright - like he had a mind full of happy memories and he was watching them all at once.

He didn't have to know anything more than that.

* * *

They crossed paths on the battlefield unexpectedly a couple days later. Pausing in mid-turn as the rest of the fight grew distant and unimportant. Vision tunneling pleasantly as he fought to keep his pleasure from reaching his face. Inviting the angel to play with the jutting incline of his head before Fiore raised his hand and blasted the group of demons he'd been fighting in favor of facing him.

Their ferocity was for show this time as they clashed swords. Able to appreciate the moment for what it was as they learned yet another aspect of the other and claimed it greedily for their very own. Enjoying the challenge that came with the knowledge that while every blow had to connect - had to _look_ real – not one would wrend skin.

It was a dangerous game.

But he couldn't stop playing it.

* * *

The next day he took a Seraphim's lance to the gut while Fiore was in mid-flight above him.

The act itself startled him. Taking him completely by surprise as his knees buckled belatedly. Staring down at the silver point that'd burst through his chest like a corpse-flower. Realizing by proxy that he hadn't been paying attention at all.

 _He'd been watching Fiore._

He almost laughed when the Seraphim ripped it free and disappeared into the crush. Feeling the impact splinter through his knees when he collapsed with a weakened jolt. Screaming air between his teeth as pitch-ridden red bubbled up his throat.

But it was the sound Fiore made as he hovered just out of reach - looking down at him like he was moments away from tucking his wings and darting to his side - that made him truly understand that terror was an animal that had _layers_. And they'd just skirted around the edges of one of the most costly.

The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Fiore's face.

It was Fiore watching him bleed with shards of glass for eyes.

Remembering to survive just in time to turn his back and pretend like he wasn't bleeding too as another squadron of angel's joined him in the sky.

But this time, it wasn't a comfort.

* * *

"They're going to catch us, you know," he opened the next time. Tone conversational despite the discomfort the words unearthed. Catching sight of Fiore already huddled into his accustomed side of the cave. Looking up at him like he still expected him to be bleeding as he made an aborted movement in the half-dark. Like he wanted to get up and come to him but something made him change his mind at the last minute.

"Yes," Fiore agreed, nodding shallowly. Veterans of the same thought. The same reality that'd been wordlessly exchanged and accepted between them.

"Do you want to stop meeting?" he asked, crouching down across from him. Wanting more than anything to take the back words and that terrible, awful risk he was running in allowing them free.

But apparently he didn't have to worry.

Fiore's refusal was like an electric charge.

"No," Fiore returned, stern but strong. Enough that he could sense the capital letters and the exact point of punctuation at the end. Answering like he knew _exactly_ what he was agreeing to and more. But staring him down like the angel half-expected him to say the opposite. To finally pull the rug out from under him and reveal the entire thing for the grand cosmic joke he'd spent just as long believing it was.

Only he didn't.

He didn't think there was a reality in the entire universe at this point where he ever could.

Instead, he smiled small into the dark.

The emotion felt strange on his face but he decided he liked it.

It had a purpose.

A place.

 _A home._

* * *

He never asked again.

From then on it was decided.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There is more to come, stay tuned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

Fiore was waiting for him - restless and unhappy - the next time they were able to meet in the mountain cave. It was the first time in months and the separation showed. Fiore might have been indignant, but he in contrast was moving slow. Careful. _Exhausted._ Feeling ten times his true age was as the sharp of his ribs showed prominently against his filthy hide.

"Where have you been?" Fiore demanded, on him immediately. Wings bristling in affront like he was directly to blame. Going as far as to deliberately clip him with a wingtip as he nodded a greeting and slipped deeper into the cave. "I thought-"

"You thought what?" he prompted, joints aching as he eased back against the rock with a pained grunt. Hyper-aware that the angel was following his every move.

"Never mind what I thought!" Fiore snapped, clearly agitated. "Where have you been? I couldn't find you. You weren't here, where-"

Fiore paused mid-rant, cocking his head. Looking him over before the expression on his face softened a fraction.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I got sent on a mission. Top-side. To Earth. Something that needed special handling," he explained, wincing when the gnarled knots of abused muscles pulled uncomfortably tight under his skin. "Things did not go exactly as advertised."

The angle of Fiore's wings checked themselves dramatically. Slowly unpuffing before smoothing flat. Settling back down into something approximating normal before he spoke again.

"Earth? Humans?"

"Yeah, and all their little foibles," he answered, only slightly bitter. Missing the open skies and the softness of the soil. The smells. The food. The sounds. _Everything._ It was the first time he'd been to ground since he'd been made and the memories it'd drudged up had been relentless. They were vague impressions mostly, barely understood flashes and long dead sensory experiences that seemed determined to haunt him. "Ever been?"

"No- course not," Fiore needled, like he needed yet another reminder of the differences between them. "Never had permission."

He looked up at the angel with a smirk.

 _Jealousy._

Clearly he was rubbing off on him.

"I didn't have the opportunity to warn you," he said after a moment, apology unvoiced but meant all the same. "But I _did_ bring you back something."

Fiore's head jerked up. The action alone threatening to make him grin as the dry of his lips pulled painfully against the cut-up corners. Feeling something tighten pleasantly in his chest as he pulled the bundle he'd hidden inside his steel-sheath and handed it to him.

"It's a comic book," he explained, as Fiore took it delicately. As if one wrong move could send it powdering to bits. "It has pictures and words; it tells a story. Lots of people like them for the story- but I figured you'd like the buildings. It had a city on the cover so-"

He trailed off with a shrug.

"You got this for me?"

Fiore's face was naked. Stripped bare and painfully open as he stared at him. Making him suddenly aware of the moment and all it's intricacies as the air inside the cave muddled itself into a grudging, comfortable warmth.

"Figured it was only fair, burned your other book, didn't I?"

Fiore dipped his head, saying nothing. Unrolling the comic with careful reverence. Acting like it was some sort of holy object. Almost like-

"What is it like?" Fiore asked after a moment. Voice surprisingly hoarse. Running his thumb down the stapled edge of the cover before tracing the bold letters of the title.

"Sit down," he countered instead, patting the rocky ground beside him insistently. Seeing an opening and taking it unashamedly as Fiore turned to look at him - assessing and questioning all at once. "I'm done in, least you can do is make it so I don't have to crane my neck while I tell you about it."

He'd baited the hook. He'd admit that much. But somehow he had a feeling that soon he wouldn't have to. Experiencing something possessive and clean ripple through him when the angel did just that. Lowering himself beside him before looking up expectantly.

Their shoulders were almost brushing.

It was distracting.  
 _  
Good._

"Tell me," Fiore hummed. Flipping to the first page where a dark alley lit up by distant street lights and a sickly city glow glinted from its glossy pages.  
"It is busy. Busier than it used to be," he answered slowly, trying to relive it. Trying show him by just telling. "The air in the cities isn't as fresh, but you can still taste the water in the air. The country is better. More open. All long grass and a sky that seems to go on forever."

"What kind of buildings are there?"

"Every kind," he returned. Some are just functional; some are more- more works of art than anything. Things have changed down there, that's for sure. That's humans for you, though. Always busy doing something, figurin' it's new. That it's never been done before when the truth is it's already been a thousand times. Recycling and all that."

"And humans? What are they like?"

He thought about the people who'd passed him on the street. The newspaper with the bold headlines being sold at a corner shop. The old man screaming at shadows with gin on his breath - ignored by people hurrying past. The woman with the tired eyes, but honest smile who'd served him coffee from a dent pewter carafe. Ruddy cheeks coloring prettily when he'd called her "love," and told her to take care of herself when he left.

He thought about the man walking home from work with a coal-dust cough. Breaking into a wide smile when the sound of his children calling his name in chorus reached him. About the gang of street urchins pinching wallets on main street with thin faces. The soft swell of an expectant mother slowly getting onto a state-car, her husband's driver hovering behind her like any moment they expected her to fall. Her angry words drifting through the shuttered window as she said something scathing to the person inside.

He hummed an open-minded note.

"They just are. Some are good. Some are bad. Most are somewhere in between Teetering between heaven and hell with no idea what's at stake. If they knew-"

"They don't. _They can't._ That's the point," Fiore reminded primly, sounding like he was reciting from the scriptures again as his wings flared imperiously. "When humans began to doubt, it was decided. Those that decide to be good, that _are_ good, that _try_ \- they ascend. The others-"

"Fall," he finished bluntly.

 _Just like he had._

Just like the soul that had worn this skin.

Fiore said nothing for a long time after that.

There wasn't anything to say, really.

* * *

Hours passed before Fiore spoke again.

Long enough that the shadows at the mouth of the cave had deepened in shade and depth. Adding a layer of severity and a certain heaviness to an already sour mood right up until Fiore set the comic down between them with an audible sound.

"Why?" Fiore asked hesitantly. Like he wasn't sure if he should. "Why did you fall?"

"I didn't. _He_ did," he snarled, the last bit leaving his mouth in a spit of distaste as he gestured down at himself. Down at the shell - the skin. Displaying the coarseness of his hide - the way it pulled taut over the bones as bile surged thick in his throat. Cutting the air between them with the sharp of his claws and his curving black horns. Hell's very own badge of honor for those strong enough to survive the pits and pitch head first into the Endless War.

Fiore's head jerked up.

"They never told you?"

"Isn't how it works down there," he answered, sinking into himself slowly as exhaustion tried it's best to steal him away. Saving him from the rest of the conversation until Fiore's blue eyes pinned him down through the gloom. "You fall, that's enough. That's all that matters. Isn't that what they teach you up there in your shining halls? Some ascend, some fall, simple as that, right?"

He was angry.

Wounded.

Maybe even still bleeding.

Realizing it only belatedly as Fiore's wings quivered.

"No," Fiore murmured, no louder than a whisper as it issued up from a bowed head and eyes that wouldn't quite meet his.

"No?" he parroted, part condescending, part desperate. Feeling like they were inches from a thinning overhang and even less from a bottomless abyss that offered no second chances. "No what?"

"They do say that- that you rise or you fall. But I don't- I don't know if I believe- if I _know_ that's true anymore."

Something in him stilled.

Pitching like dying frequencies in his ears as his heart _thundered_.

"It can't be. You're here. _We're here._ That has to- that has to mean something. _You're different_. You have to be. When I first saw you, you were… _in color-_ like everything else was a sea of black and white. You stood out. I didn't understand it then. I'd never seen- Deblanc, you have to be, otherwise none of this would be-"

A cold sweat shuddered through him like an infectious disease.

 _Panic._

 _Uncertainty._

 _Confusion._

 _Fear._

 _Want._

 _Why?_

 _What did it all mean?_

 _How could this be happening?_

 _It couldn't._

 _It was impossible._

 _It didn't make sense._

He bared his teeth, hissing a violent breath that made Fiore stiffen beside him. Lashing out the only way he knew how as he tried and failed to force his bones to move. Wanting to get up. Get away. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but-

"Don't pander to me," he warned, digging his nails into the rock just to feel the grounding surge of pain. More than a bit lost when he realized it didn't made him feel any better – any clearer. If anything it made him feel worse. "Don't tell me I'm something I'm not. I know what I am. Where I deserve to be. And I'm right here, in the center of it."

Fiore opened his mouth to respond, wings agitated and arched above his shoulders. Clearly spoiling for the same fight he was ready to toss himself into without reservation. Anything to push the moment away and bury it deep. But it didn't happen. Instead, Fiore made an aborted move backwards the same moment he leaned in. Hands falling on top of one another – _touching_ \- as everything else came to a screeching halt.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

Neither of them moved.

He flat out just didn't breathe.

He couldn't.

All his energy was focused on the pale, long fingered hand that was sharing space with his. Layered across the dirty-dark of his palm like it belonged there. Like Fiore wanted it there. Like-

They remained frozen together as he counted the hiccuping thrum of his heart. Trying not to lose himself in the strange spreading pleasure that threatened to change everything. Realizing with growing panic that his anger had been a smokescreen for something else. Something deeper. More-

"What are you-? I don't-"

An age passed before Fiore's fingers flexed awkwardly against his. Catching in the grooves as he spread his skin and laced their fingers together like a divine catechism. All of it happened without him even thinking about it. Natural like breathing as he squeezed gently. Uncertain of what to do about it when Fiore let go of an _obscene_ little gasp. Head tipping back like it was too much as something in the pit of his belly _smoldered_.

And it felt-

 _Oh god._

It was-

"I don't understand," Fiore issued hoarsely. Grasping his hand tightly all the same as an overstimulated mewl rose up from his throat unbidden. Making no move to pull away as the sharp of his nails ghosted down the tender of the angel's palm.

"Neither do I, my dear," he whispered, stunned into a strange sort of contentment as the moment stretched. Rumbling low and sweet and unabashedly hungry under his skin. "Neither do I."

But part of him did.

Part of him knew that somehow this was what they'd been working their way up to all along.

That it was unstoppable.

 _Right._

Fiore was nonverbal beside him.

Coming to grips with it just like he was.

Working it out.

Justifying it.

The muscles under his skin jumping.

 _Twitching._

Translating into something stiff and unyielding until-

Because before he could come to terms with it, the tension was bleeding out of him like water rinsing out an infected sore. Unfurling around him like the soft pedals of a flower that'd just found a superior patch of sun. Feeling him - _Fiore_ – in every way he possibly could as the angel's grace nudged hesitantly at his darkness. Pressing up against the underside of his skin like an overture as he gritted his teeth and let it in. Unsure and trembling until the light simply curled up in the center of his chest with an eon-old sigh and settled.

* * *

The terrible part was that it _hurt_.

The purity of Fiore's grace made his horns ache and his insides burn.

 _It was too much._

Maybe even too much for him to bear.

Highlighting the divide between them as needle-sharp throbs spread from where they were joined.

But he welcomed it all the same.

Anything Fiore gave him, he would accept.

He'd come to terms with that a long time ago.

* * *

They sat together, silent in the aftermath.

Soaking in the power of it as their hands grew clammy and slippery with sweat.

But they didn't pull away.

The discovery was too precious for that.

 _Too new._

And somewhere in the depths of him, the fragile little part he thought Hell had burned away - the stubborn part that still clung to the inner of his skin, the one with the homesick heart - stuttered itself into a shocked, but contented silence.

* * *

He prodded at the inner of his palm later in the mildew-dank of his usual nest. Worrying the spot where Fiore's hand had been like it was a fresh wound. Macabrely curious as his skin eventually tore and pitch-red blood leaked from the growing wound. Waiting impatiently for the good sensation to return.

Greedy for it.

 _Addicted.  
_  
Only it didn't and he wasn't sure why.

No, that was lie.

He knew why.

He didn't want to, but he did.

Huffing in frustration when he realized the common denominator was missing.

 _Fiore._

He just didn't want to admit the reality that was going to come with it. Knowing deep down in the marrow of him that this wasn't going to end well. But also knowing, just as deep, that he would doing anything just for a second more of it.

He supposed that meant something profound.

That there was a word for the feeling.

Only he couldn't remember it.

He was still considering the problem when a lone demon descended into the nest with a noticeable limp. Hissing with pain and ill-temper as she slid down the muddy edge and firmed against his side. Her long black hair stringy and slicked thin to her scalp, stinking of rot and mildew.

"What happened to you?" another demon asked. A ganging creature with horns smaller than theirs - younger by at least a thousand years as he lifted his head from the pile of sleeping flesh and eyed her wound with distaste.

"Adelphi scum," she answered, slapping the youngling's hand away as it darted up to poke at the edges of the sword-slash that'd torn out a good chunk of her stomach flesh.

"Why didn't you just let it finish you?"

He held his breath. Waiting for the reaction he knew would-

"Mind your own business, gutter-swill! I don't give the fair ones the satisfaction of the kill when I can help it. Unlike some," she spat, eying the younger as she leaned the majority of her weight against him. Shoulder to shoulder like he and Fiore had been only hours earlier and everything about it was _wrong, wrong, wrong._

The base of his horns throbbed again.

He wanted to rip himself away.

To ram his fist through the rotting wet of her belly and finish the job.

Anything to get away.

His nails bled through the inner of his palms. Holding himself back as the demon turned to look at him, irritated by his unwelcoming stiffness.

"Ease up, brother," she snarked, squirming against him as she tried to get comfortable. "You might break a nail.

He knew her better than he knew the others. They had rested together before. Even had each other more than once as the centuries marched past. And for good reason. She had crawled out of the pits hours before him. They were the sole survivors of their batch of tortured souls – the only ones who found their way out of the maelstrom to be promoted to the battlefield. Her face had been the first these eyes had seen after the human soul had been burned away. Before Fiore she'd been the closest thing he had to-

The she-demon wrinkled her nose. Looking him up and down with clear disgust.

"You smell strange," she growled, eyes glowing red as she scented the air. Seeming to zero in on the palm Fiore had been holding earlier. "Cleaner...complicated."

Fear wasn't an unfamiliar emotion, even to a demon.

But that was the moment he realized it had shades.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – More to come, stay tuned.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis' parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

The next day he was already pacing in the cave, waiting, when Fiore ducked inside. He looked up, momentarily wary. Suddenly unsure if they were on the same page until he realized Fiore was heading right for him. Stubborn and sure in a way that eased the knot in his throat before meeting him halfway. Raising his palm with a small, abortive movement that Fiore swallowed easily with his own. Grasping each other like they'd waited all this time to do _just_ that.

"Deblanc, I-"

He cut him off with a look. Not knowing he needed exactly _this_ until he looked up and caught Fiore staring at him. Looking at him like he never wanted to see anything else. Like what he saw _didn't_ disgust him or even-

"What do you see?" he asked quietly.

Fiore's throat dipped before answering.

"You."

Outside the cave the clash of swords grew loud. Making the tendons under his skin threaten to tighten as the risk of being discovered grew the closer the sound of the battle became. The cave was remote, yes. But not inaccessible. Especially if you happened to have a pair of wings. They'd been careful – but mostly just lucky up until this point. He knew it. Fiore knew it. And yet here they were all the same.

"And what did you see before?" he asked, forcing the words out between hidden, gritted teeth. Feeling the sharp, pressing pressure of his elongated canines digging into his gums. Using the familiar blunt of pain to ground himself as the angel shifted impossibly closer.

Fiore's wings draped over his shoulders like a tentative invitation. Tickling across bare skin as the now familiar ache in his horns throbbed like a someone was digging underneath them with something blunt and piping hot. He was starting to understand why, but he didn't move away. Nothing in all the made and unmade universe could make him turn away now.

 _Not from this._

 _Not from Fiore._

" _You_ ," Fiore said again. Soft as anything but strong this time like he knew. Like he'd decided. "It's all there ever was, you just had to look hard enough. Hell didn't take everything. Not all of it."

He sucked in an unsteady breath. Allowing himself to be confronted by a truth he couldn't escape. Not even if he wanted to. Knowing Fiore would never lie to him. Knowing that it wasn't going to be this simple. Knowing that something was building just beyond their reach. Knowing he had to give up this much – _this part of himself_ \- if he wanted to start-

His eyes were wet. Tacky moisture beading off his lower lashes as he blinked uncomprehendingly, momentarily lost. It was the first time in he'd tasted the salt of his own tears. Not knowing he'd waited his entire life just to hear those words until the moment had them by the throat and forged them into something stronger – something better. Something _more_ than they'd been before.

It was an achingly appropriate and equally impossible metaphor.

But it was _theirs._

 _It fit._

And he supposed at the end of the day, that was the point.

* * *

It was some time later, long enough for the tears to stop and the salt to tighten into translucence crusts across his filthy cheeks that Fiore moved again. Reaching out with silent eagerness as the angel swayed into the heart of him with giving exhaustion. Letting Fiore ghost his hands across his face. Tracing him. _Memorizing him._ Lulling them both into a place that was almost devastatingly intimate.

He'd watched humans like this. Couples so wrapped in each other that the sky could have fallen and they wouldn't have noticed. But he'd never understood it. He'd never had the capacity for it. Never known it was possible until now. Until-

His eyes had drifted closed long before Fiore's fingers skirted around his horns. Making his back arch like a cat before tipping up his chin with the curl of his forefinger. Tracing his cheeks and the lines arounds his mouth before trailing across the glossy back of his horns again. Unable to leave them alone. Every time the angel touched them, his horns burned. It hurt, but he didn't pull away. He was close to something. Something he had no baseline for, no system of measurement. Only the knowledge that he wanted and wanted _badly._

His hands firmed around Fiore's forearms like an anchor when the angel's cheek brushed against his. Nuzzling and close as soft lips explored the harsh black scales. Distantly aware of a fond, almost blissed-out hum coming from somewhere – _someone_ – making tracks through the heavy, humid air.

 _Oh._

His eyes cracked open just in time to see determination flash across Fiore's face as he leaned impossibly closer. Lips parted. Close. Dry. Almost-

The moment their lips brushed was a ghost. See-through and just as fleeting. Knowing immediately that it was something he wanted to do again and again. Over and over. For as long as Fiore would let him and maybe a few extra minutes longer while he was still protesting, lips puffy-red and sore. He wanted it all. Every single second of it. He wanted to feel Fiore's skin give and cleave in the purest way - without steel or the iron tang of pain and blood.

He was so wrapped up in it, he almost didn't notice that something was wrong. Because then, just before the moment grew stale and begged the start of another, the ache in his skull transformed into burning agony.

Bright.

Righteous.

Merciless.

Hard.

And he _screamed._

 _Oh god, did he scream._

Only he didn't hear it.

He didn't have to.

 _He felt it._

* * *

Then- as suddenly as it'd started, minutes- or maybe decades earlier, it was over. Leaving him swaying in Fiore's arms as the angel quivered around him. Wings flared, protective and horrified all at once as a trickling river of pitch-red blood flowed down his face.

But there was no time to regroup. No time to even begin to figure out what to say. Because the moment his horns fell sharply across the rocks was the same moment the world underneath their feet suddenly trembled.

* * *

"They're still looking. It doesn't seem like either side can pin point what it was or where it came from. The Seraphim are gathering above the battle, in conference. They are directing the others to fight. They're...angry, unsettled. They're saying the natural order has been disrupted. Even Heaven sensed the aftershocks."

He was still trembling under his skin when Fiore returned with broken bit of polished stone. It was burnished to a glossy shine that was strong enough to show him his reflection. To show him the gaping holes where his horns had been. And how his skin was almost softening. Sharp claws blunting themselves into dirt-lined nails as the pale-peach of a remarkably human-looking skin started to overtake the dark scales of his demon form.

"They know," he rasped weakly. Voice ragged as he tested every word around the strange dull square of human teeth. Able to sense the shift in the air. The feeling that something integral had changed. "Both sides. They'll be searching,"

He was a monster with a man's face now.

 _Changed._

His lips threatened to quirk up.  
 _  
The outsides finally matched the insides, it would seem._

"I'm sorry," Fiore whispered, guilt and sorrow almost overwhelming as he hung his head. "I didn't know."

"I'm not," he replied, less surprised than he figured he had the right to be, considering. Especially since it was the truth. He wasn't sorry. Whatever had happened? Whatever they'd done? He didn't regret it. After all, how could he?

"You won't be able to go back," Fiore warned. "One look and they'll-"

He cut through the angel's nervous, self-criminating babble with glance. More sure than he'd been of anything as he shook his head, smirking lightly. Realizing that in a strange, round about way he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted all along. What he didn't know he'd been yearning for ever since he'd dragged himself out of the hell-pits and realized that the little broken voice in the back of his head really shouldn't have been there at all. It should have been burned away. But it wasn't. Some part of the soul – _their soul_ – had survived.

 _Somehow.  
_  
"Who says I want to go back?" he asserted gently, bare feet curling around the sharp mountain rock of their cave. "Besides, we both knew this day was coming. Things couldn't go on like this forever. Straddling the fence. Wanting the best out of two worlds. We've been on borrowed time since the moment we saw each other, my dear."

Fiore's halo flared almost blindingly bright at the omission. Long limbs strangely restless as his wings curled tight around himself for a long moment before puffing up again. Looking like he was readying himself for something as the high, pure notes of a squadron of angels drifted in through the mouth of the cave.

"You can go," he started, already thinking the next few hours through. Compartmentalizing. Trying to give them as much time as he could before he figured they would eventually be discovered. You couldn't hide in Purgatory. Not forever. "We can hold out for a little while. I can stay here and wait for you or, _umpph-_ "

His back hit the wall of the cave as Fiore surged forward and kissed him deeply. Hoisting him up with easy strength as a knee hushed between his thighs and inadvertently gave him something to grind against. Enjoying the syrupy hiccup of surprise that escaped Fiore when he tugged on the angel's lower lip with his teeth. Worming his hands south as the brightness of Fiore's halo grew blinding. Humming and sparking like electricity as everything he had – everything he was – rose instinctively to meet him.

It was almost too much.

But even then he was hungry for it.

Hungry for the dangerous ripple of static that started building when Fiore's hands firmed around his face. Tipping it skyward the same moment he tangled his fingers in the white of Fiore's thin, cotton shift and _pulled_. Feeling something hot, earthly and ready scream through him as they fell into each other like they knew. Counting down to the inevitable as they risked the end of everything they were – together and apart - for this one, imperfect beginning.

All in all, it remained true to them.

And the truth was, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

He had no idea it was even possible to make their situation worse.

But _somehow_ they managed it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter, stay tuned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-

 **Disclaimer:** canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.

 **Temenos**

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

"They'll find it. _Us_. They're already coming, I can feel it." Fiore told him. Sheathing his twin swords with a resigned movement as Genesis zipped excitedly between his fingers. No more than a small pin prick of light, but with power he could feel like an electric charge as he cupped his palm around it protectively. Wondering how on earth they were going to carry it with them as he looked around at the ground at their feet.

"Then let's fight for it," he decided, tone flat-lining. Letting Genesis idle between them as he leaned down and nudged his toe against the dirty coffee tin that'd been in the cave since the day he'd discovered it.

"It isn't any use," Fiore pointed out, watching him unearth the dented container and dust it off. "We can't win."

"That it then?" he snapped with frustrated heat. Angry because Fiore was right. They would be imprisoned. Separated. Or maybe killed for good if such a thing was even possible. And Genesis? Well, they would- No, he didn't even want to think about it! Genesis was theirs and every second that Fiore stayed silent curdled the growing warmth in his chest.

"So you'd just let them?" he snarled again, heart beating a mile a minute as the little spark flickered frantically. Whizzing between the two of them – upset and anxious. "Would you stand back and do nothing? It's just a child! It doesn't know! None of it! "

Fiore's wings flared, viciously sharp. Expression thunderous as he reared back, darkening the air around their heads with an eerie ethereal light. Body language gentling only slightly when Genesis gurgled in alarm. Bobbing close beside them in the back-drafts like it knew something was wrong.

"Of course not! _It's ours!_ " Fiore answered, expression hard as the force of the words reminded him why this had all been worth it. Why he wouldn't have changed a bit of it, even now. He closed his eyes, sucking in a brutal, constraining breath before letting it out in one condensed stream. He wouldn't have wanted Fiore and their little one any other way. Unexpected or not.

"Then we fight," he replied determinedly, holding out the container for Genesis' inspection as the little spark trundled over to sniff around the edges. Blinking tiredly. "Even if it's hopeless. Whatever happens, we do it together."

"In ya' get, love," he murmured. Waiting until Genesis had settled on the bottom before easing on the lid with an assuring little pat. "Sleep now. You'll be safe in here."

He lifted his head. Looking the angel in the eyes as something calming and still passed between them. Feeling the surety of it trickle off his tongue like every syllable carried the weight of the divine.

"I won't be ashamed. Not of it. _Not of us_. None of it."

There was a fraction of a second where they swayed close. Fingers brushing chastely before Fiore took another staggering step and closed the distance between them. Seizing him up in a rough, messy kiss that he pulled away from almost as quickly. Eyes blown and skin hot to the touch, just like before, but this time there was something else keen to make itself known. A feeling that whispered – _that promised_.

"I love you," Fiore said suddenly. Abruptly like he'd only just realized it. Wings lowering down to curl around him protectively before he took the coffee tin and hoisted Genesis high in his arms.

 _Their impossible little spark._

The smile that spread across his face was transformative.

Pure perhaps not in the divine way, but ultimately pure enough for them.

"And I you, my dear," he returned quietly. Leaning into Fiore's warm, leggy-weight as the soft of his secondary feathers tickled across the healing scars where his horns had been. Able to breathe freely - far freer than he had in a long time – as the rest of the world washed over him like waves breaking across a distant shore.

Uncertain of how they'd gotten here, but grateful they had, in spite of it all.

It felt like the first thing worth fighting for since the beginning.

* * *

"Traitors!"

It was worse than they'd thought.

Because in a hysterical fit of irony, for the first time since Lucifer fell, the two sides came together. Hunting them like a pack of dogs against a single, skinny rabbit as their threats and scorn followed them on the wind. Making Fiore's lips thin into a brutal, terrified line and Genesis whimper.

"Disgusting!"

They made it to the base of Heights' rock before they were surrounded. The heavenly host and the demonic army on either side - closing in. An impenetrable barrier of flesh and bone. Darkness and light.

"It must be destroyed!"

They were smeared with sticky black pitch and shining angel-red. Exhausted and heartsick. Yet equally fierce. Keeping Genesis safe between them as they fought back to back for- hours? Days? He'd lost track. All he knew was that it'd been a long time since they'd shared skin in the dark of their cave. A long time since Fiore's voice had wrenched high and breathy in pleasure. Great wings flaring out like he couldn't contain the need to-

"Abomination!"

He grunted when the jab of a spear caught him through the fingers of his ribs. Feeling the full-body stiffen of Fiore behind him as the angel let go of a piercing note and swung the sharp of his broadsword in an arc above his head. Forcing the avenging angel to fall back or taste the point of another heavenly blade.

He clutched his side, baring blunt human teeth at the demons that danced and cackled around them. Weaving in and out of the angelic host - taunting and looking for an opening. They were the easiest to ignore. But it was the way Fiore flinched - seeming to draw into himself further and further every time one of the angels scorned him - that piqued his rage. Creating wounds far deeper than any blade as the light of Fiore's halo flickered sickly blue against the orange-streaked sky.

It was a strange thing, realizing that now, more than ever, he couldn't allow himself to fall. If he died now, he would be leaving Fiore alone. _Leaving_ _Genesis._ Even if he did get sent back to hell, changed as he was, he wouldn't make it back fast enough for it to make any difference.

He blinked heavily, trying to clear his vision. Tossing his head back as the loss of the familiar weight of his horns put him off balance. Sinking the sharp of his nails into the calloused-rough of his black-lined palms. Forcing himself to focus. Tunneling on the next target. The next sword, dagger or spear.

He couldn't-

"A union most unclean!"

Genesis wailed. Unhappy cries carrying through the still air. Creating unpredictable shockwaves through the surrounding armies as the power of it's displeasure rippled through the dark of purgatory. Like by sheer volume alone it could plead its case.

Fiore was deadly quiet.

Sober.

Resigned.

Yet not diminished.

He did his best to mirror that as he wobbled, unsteady on his feet.

He could feel the glare radiating from his skin.

The way his lips were pulled back like a threat.

But inside his mind was screaming.

How had it come to this? How could something that felt so good - so right - be wrong? Why did they deserve punishment when they'd found love where all others had found hatred and war? Is this what the Endless War had reaped? So blind to the idea of another way that they were willing to eradicate them just to prove a point?

 _They were wrong._

There was another way.

And if that was blasphemous, well, he'd gladly burn for just another breath of it.

The mood of the crowd turned impatient when he and Fiore managed to hold those brave enough to lash out back. Circling the front lines as exhaustion started to weigh. It would only be a matter of time before it was over. One way or another. They'd known it would come down to this in the beginning, but now that moment was almost here.

"If the traitors will not leave it to it's fate they will share it!"

He sensed the strain - the feeling of a hundred thousand centuries shivering - before Fiore broke their silence. Voice cracking, emotive, shaking off the dust of innocence and complacency alike as the light from his halo dimmed, seemingly by the second.

And somehow, that only made it worse.

"Punish me. But leave them be!" Fiore shouted, words trilling out into the crowd like an command and a plead. "I am to blame. I allowed this to happen - to continue. I will surrender willingly, only-"

He opened his mouth to interject. To yell that if there was anyone to blame it was him, and perhaps more importantly, to take Fiore's place. To offer himself alone and allow Fiore and Genesis to go free even though he already knew it would never happen. It seemed important to offer. But before he could voice it, another voice flared angrily to the forefront.

"You have fallen far, Fiore. You would plead for the life you and this...creature created?" A female Adelphi demanded. Pushing to the forefront of the angelic host. The same woman who'd been Fiore's preening companion in the garrison before he'd watched her burn. Her long hair done up in an elegant, braided knot on the top of her head.

"I would. A thousand times," Fiore returned, head held high. Warming him in spite of everything as the angel caught his eyes. Their fingers brushing significantly – once, then twice – before curling around their weapons again.

"Enough of this!" one of the commanders of a different hell squadron growled. Curling his lip as he sneered down at him. Old hide riddled with scars, fangs jutting and long as he slavered through every word. "Surrender or die."

"I have died before, I'm used to it," he gritted, seething. "Forgive me if I take my chances."

"Silence," a Seraphim bellowed, hovering high above them with a shining spear. Ignoring him in favor of casting his attention on Fiore alone. "If you truly repent, stand aside and allow justice to be dealt. I can promise it will be over quickly. For God's will is as merciful as it is just. Remember your loyalty, Child of Heaven."

But instead of being cowed, Fiore's wings only _bristled_. Flaring high and glossy-thick, stretching as high as they could reach before inching down into an aggressive fold beside him. Expression grim but steady as his angel looked at down at him without words.

The message was clear.

 _Together._

That was the last moment they had that was purely theirs before the commanders of both armies called for the advance.

* * *

Time was an inconsequential thing by the time he fell. Bloody hand fisting the poisoned earth as Fiore crumpled beside him like they'd been cut from the same string. Thick ribbons of red winding down strong forearms as his sword clattered against the rocks with a sound he was too far gone to hear. Wings crooked and broken as they fluttered above his head – splintered and off-center.

His thoughts felt just as fractured, bleeding out as he fought to raise his head. Sensing more than seeing the Lead Seraphim and the Hell Commander approach, egged on both their forces. His vision blurred, forcing him blink rapidly just to keep them in focus. Conscious of Fiore trying and failing to stand as his broken wings creaked painfully – a mess of broken flights and gore-streaked plumage.

Everywhere he looked all he saw was a press of bodies. Skill. Steel. Swords. A deafening cacophony of the end as they kept Genesis safe between them. Watching their deaths approach as Fiore's hand found his - grasping him fiercely.

It was a goodbye.

The last one they would ever-

But then, before the swords could fall, the distant mountain that had not moved since the fall of God's favorite child, _trembled_.

And just like that, Heaven and Hell fell into chaos.

It appeared as though someone upstairs didn't agree.

* * *

The last thing he registered before exhaustion took him was the moment where the rolling clashes of dying syllables ordered themselves into something – maybe even a voice - that made every Seraphim sink to bended knee. And every demon - save for him – to fall howling to ground. Fiore's hand was still in his, grinding the bones of his hand to dust as the angel looked up to the mountain. Expression reverent and transported as his God spoke onto him - perhaps for the first time.

Finding something to dig roots for when Fiore wrapped his arms around him, pulling him and Genesis – a being they'd born into this world because what they felt for one another had borders, no divisions or rules – into the cradle of his lap. Pressing him up against his chest so that the words rebounded through the purity of Fiore's bones, softening the volume and weight so that the lilting words slowly started to take shape in his mind's eye. Giving him flickers of a dying sunset on a distant desert plain and a woman skimming her toes in a lazy country creek. On growing things and the sound of human child laughing. The smell of fall in the mountains. The old must of worn leather and a thick-paste polish as a forgotten saddle came back to life in his hands.

He didn't understand the words, but Fiore could and his face was- his face was _divine._

They were not alone in their love anymore.

But then again, considering the circumstances, perhaps they'd never been.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.


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